Being the Exerpts of A Hobbits Tale
by Kyprish Prophetess
Summary: Traveling with a band of people a different race than yourself is bound to cause some confusion. These are a series of short stories pertaining to potential cultural clashes between dwarrows and a hobbit.
1. Chapter 1

Bilbo felt incredibly out of place as they traveled, and wished, rather than being at home, that the Company was filled with hobbits.

It wasn't the dwarrows fault (except Thorin, who looked at him like he was something on his boot) exactly; most of them had tried to at least be welcoming. No, it was closer to distrust, perhaps even subconsciously.

Bilbo knew that typically dwarrows were more suspicious and less trusting than hobbits were, and for good reason. Certainly they had been given little reason to trust anyone in these latest years, with the destruction of their home and the wanderings of their people.

And considering his obvious reluctance in leaving his home and his fear of, well, everything he didn't recognize, they really had no reason to immediately trust him.

But it didn't lessen his annoyance that they wouldn't let him help at camp; he could cook, at the very least, and certainly collecting firewood wasn't out of his skill level. He had camped, regardless of where, and disliked that he was essentially a burden on the Company.

He'd offered, only to be chased away from the fire and told to stay put when he tried to help with the wood. Annoyed, he moved to sit on the other side of the fire, away from the others. He huffed, before examining himself. His legs were scuffed and his clothes dirty, but nothing needed repairs of anything else he could distract himself with. He could smoke, he supposed, but leisurely sitting around would only make his obvious lack of usefulness all the more apparent. He just wanted to help! If he didn't, why would he have even come along?

Scowling now, he bent a bit to examine his feet, which bore the brunt of the dirt on his body. Usually they would be fairly clean, and the hair along the top brushed neatly, but he didn't have that luxury, and didn't believe there was a point to keeping them up anyway. He'd only be filthy later anyway.

"Mister Boggins, did you forget your shoes?" He looked it up, and dropped his foot back to the dusty ground. Masters Fili and Kili were sitting nearby now, bowls of stew in their hands. He frowned in confusion, looking between them, before glancing at Gandalf, who appeared not to have heard.

"Ex- excuse me?" What on Middle Earth were they talking about?

"Shoes, Mister Baggins! Cover your feet, keep them warm and protected from harm? You ought to have them, you know. Forgetting them in the Shire is one thing, but we're heading through the mountains soon enough. You'll be needing the extra protection." They both looked amused, which clued Bilbo in to their joke.

They were making fun of him! His scowl deepened, and he pulled his feet closer to the log he was seated on, partially hidden from sight.

"I don't need shoes, Master Fili. Please, dismiss it from you minds." He hoped they would leave it alone; they weren't far in their journey yet, and having to deal with their light-hearted teasing would be tedious. He hoped it was light hearted, at least.

Kili seemed to disagree, and began to open his mouth when Thorin called them both back to the other side of the fire. They went, and Bilbo hoped it would be the last of that. A hobbit wearing shoes indeed!

_XxX_

Three days later, Fili and Kili seemed to have realized how much this shoe business bothered him, and brought it up often. Thankfully they were often away from the others; Bilbo didn't want another song detailing his lack of shoes, of all things!

"Come now, Mister Boggins, we'll be passing another village within a few days, perhaps you ought to get a good pair of boots." Fili said, and grinned when Bilbo turned to glare at him.

"No need to be embarrassed, everyone forgets something! Granted, shoes seem an odd thing to forget, but really! You ought to be thankful we're both so attentive!" Kili's voice had risen, not much, but it was, unfortunately, enough.

"What's that, lads? Mister Baggins, do not tell me you didn't bring shoes?" Bofur was looking back at them, curse it, and at his voice, the others were beginning to look. Gandalf and Thorin were the only ones who seemed not to have heard, at the other end of their camp and speaking lowly.

"No, I did not." Bilbo was about to continue, when Kili cut in.

"He seems to have forgotten them back at his little home! We may have to get some in the next town, it isn't seemly to have one of our Company so ill-equipped." Bilbo was horrified to find that the others were nodding with Kili's statement. He stood, quickly, and his pack clattered as it fell from his lap onto the ground. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"Now see here! I realize that I am rather unused to travel, and certainly less prepared as you all, but really! There is no need to be so insulting!" He scowled at all of them, and even more so when he realized that both Gandalf and Thorin had looked up at his raised voice.

"I am going to collect firewood, and I would rather that I didn't hear another word about my _feet, _or you may find yourself at a loss for a burglar once again." Before the others could move, he stomped out of the camp into the trees. He heard his name, but it was unclear who had spoken, and he didn't bother turning around.

_XxX_

"Well, there was no need for that. We were only trying to make sure he was prepared for the snow." Kili sulked, sitting in Bilbo's abandoned place by the fire. Fili nodded, frowning.

"Perhaps teasing that he forgot something like that wasn't the best idea." Bofur pointed out, as he tended the fire. He watched the direction that Bilbo had gone from the corner of his eye.

"Someone who manages to forget something that important ought to be prepared for teasing, and a good deal worse besides." Dwalin muttered, from where he was cleaning his axes. They didn't need it, per say, but he found it a useful way to occupy his hands.

"Oh dear." Gandalf murmured, so quiet that only Thorin, who stood next to him, noticed.

"Did you hope he would be entirely prepared for a journey he didn't even wish to join? One he was woefully under trained to undertake?" The Wizard looked up at him with a crooked brow, before looking around at the others, ending on Balin.

"Master Balin, perhaps you noticed what your fellows did not. Were there any shoes in Bag End? Or indeed anywhere in the Shire?" Balin frowned, shaking his head.

"No, I dare say I did not, Master Gandalf. In fact, I had thought a hobbit would not have any reason for them, with that hair and how think the skin looks." Gandalf nodded, and peered at the members of the Company again.

"Hobbits do not wear shoes. Ever, even in the deepest and coldest of winters. The skin is indeed thick, as is their hair, to the point that no hobbit would ever go out with shoes. In fact, think feet are a source of pride, somewhat similar to a dwarf's beard." He paused, letting that point sink in. Kili looked appalled.

"We insulted him greatly, didn't we?" Fili asked, and sunk into his seat when Gandalf looked at him.

"Yes, Master Fili, it is indeed incredibly insulting to a hobbit to be told they need shoes. Master Baggins no doubt thought you knew of this when you asked, or he would have enlightened you."

The camp was rather quiet for a moment, each dwarf wondering what else there might have been confusion about, because of cultural differences. Then, simultaneously, Fili and Kili stood, and began walking quickly in the direction Bilbo had gone.

"In that case, an apology is in order! We'll be back soon enough." They disappeared into the woods as well, while Thorin pressed his hand to his forehead, groaning something under his breath.

_XxX_

Bilbo continued to gather firewood, though his anger had by now almost abated, and faded into embarrassment, and a touch of shame. He hadn't meant to explode at them, when they didn't seem to mean any actual harm.

But he could easily remember his childhood, when he had gone on his own little adventures around the Shire, away from the settled fields and into the mysterious Old Wood. 'Thinfoot,' they'd called him, a common insult for a traveling hobbit. Walking in foreign lands wore away the skin on the feet, or so it was said, and he remembered other relatives claiming he'd been born as such, from his mother wandering in her youth.

"Not sure he'd all hobbit, really. For a Baggins, he has remarkably thin feet," he'd heard, so many times that he'd started to believe it himself. He'd tried to keep it to himself, how much that hurt, but couldn't always manage, and even a tiny chink in ones' armor was enough to be used as a weakness.

He sighed, bending to pick up another branch, as think as his arm and twice the length. Despite whatever the dwarrows thought, he could easily gather wood! Hobbits generally worked with wood in their crafts, and each home had a large stack of wood for when the winter was upon them. Footsteps along the ground came to his ears, quickly but not panicked. He straightened up, but didn't turn around.

"Mister Baggins?" Fili came up to him, and now he did turn to face him. He looked surprisingly… contrite, and deeply bothered. Beside him, Kili wore a similar face, less tempered and more raw with emotion.

"Look, before you say anything, I would like to apologize for my earlier actions. I realize you both were teasing, and my reaction was uncalled for." Bilbo cut in quickly, wanting to get his words out quickly. Oddly enough, this only made the pair look even more bothered, as though that was just what they didn't want to hear.

"No, it is us who ought to apologize. We did not realize… Gandalf explained your lack of shoes, and the importance they have. We did not know, or we would not have said such things," Fili said slowly at first, gaining speed as he spoke. Bilbo frowned, a touch confused.

"Mister Boggins, please believe that we would never have said such terrible things if we had known! I am no stranger to such insult, and would not wish it on another." Kili spoke empathetically, and rubbed his chin slowly, without seeming to notice.

"Master Fili, Master Kili, please, don't worry about it." He smiled a bit awkwardly, but continued.

"I admit I was rather insulted, but you didn't know of it, so I see no reason to worry about it. Perhaps, in the future, I ought to ask before I assume you know about the differences between our cultures. Now, I do believe we have lingered here long enough. Shall we get back to camp? I daresay I have gathered more wood than we will need for the evening." He gestured his armload of wood to the two, who still looked flummoxed, as though his forgiveness wasn't what they had expected from this conversation.

"I believe this is one of those cultural differences you spoke of," Fili noted, as they fell into step with him.

"How so?"

"Well," Kili grinned at him from his other side, "an apology in dwarvish culture is usually accompanied with a boon from the one that was wrong. As a sign of remorse, of course." Bilbo shook his head.

"I won't ask one of either of you. As I said, this was a misunderstanding, not something worth worrying over." They reached camp, and found that all eleven dwarrows, as well as a Wizard, were watching them. Gandalf looked pleased, and the others a mix of mildly apologetic and confused. A few, he noted, were looking at his feet, and he wiggled his toes a bit in bashfulness.

"My thanks, Mister Baggins, for the firewood. It seems we should trust you a touch more, though I would remind you that even in the relative peace of the Shire, one should keep an eye out. We have gone in groups for such tasks for a reason." Thorin spoke through the slightly awkward silence. Surprised, Bilbo only nodded, and set his pile alongside the already dwindling firewood. He had been correct; it was more than they would need for the evening, unless there was an unexpected need for flammable things tonight. Bofur thanked him quietly.

"My own apologies for my earlier comments." Bilbo smiled.

"They are not needed. I am told it was out of misunderstanding, not malice." He received a smile in return, and a bowl of stew in return. He settled back into his seat on the log, resettling his pack against his leg.

Two bodies settled heavily on either side, and he looked up in surprise to find both Fili and Kili seated next to him, each with their own bowl and a grin. He smiled in return, and tucked in. Perhaps this would not be as bad as he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

It was already late in the day when they made camp. Bofur shook his hand in annoyance, the white bandage standing out against his dark skin. It had only been a _fox_, hardly worth the injury he'd gotten for chasing it away from their packs the night before.

"Something wrong, Master Bofur?" He glanced up, to where Bilbo stood, peering at him. He smiled, hoping for reassuring. It wouldn't do for their Company to be worried, especially over such a little thing!

"Just a cut, Master Baggins. It'll heal in a day or so." He showed the hand in question, which Bilbo eyed and nodded. He'd been asleep when the 'attack' had occurred, but it wasn't that hard to find out someone had been injured, with the ruckus Thorin had raised. It was a trait of a good leader, that he took even the smallest injuries so seriously.

"Of course, of course. Well, until then, if you need assistance in anything, do feel free to ask. I know first hand how tricky some tasks can be with only one arm!" He grinned, good naturedly, and they made to break camp.

However, as he went to unpack, Bofur found that there were, indeed, several things he was having trouble with. He managed to get his horse unsaddled and with the others, but it was a long process, and there was no chance of being able to help cook and risk getting something into the bandages.

He sat away from the edge of the fire instead, watching, and running his good hand over his hair, under the hat. It could easily do with being re-braided, but with one hand at his disposal, the task would be nearly impossible. He moved his hands away, but every few minutes, they wound up back under the hat, feeling the uneven rows and loose hairs. It was like a bruise, he couldn't stop irritating it.

"Master Bofur? Are you sure you are alright?" Bilbo was standing in front of him, setting down firewood. He'd started collecting after the issue with the shoes, and thus far nobody had said a word.

"I'm fine, Master Baggins. Just thinking I would like to redo my hair, before it gets to be such a mess I'd have to cut it." He shuddered at the thought. One's hair was the pride of a dwarf.

"Ah…" Bilbo sat down next to him, a touch awkwardly. It was apparent he was thinking of something, but hesitating.

"I could do them, if you wish?" Bofur froze, startled.

Braiding another's hair was a family thing, or… a courtship ceremony. Did Bilbo…?

No, it was doubtful he had any idea what he'd just insinuated. He was offering as a friend, surely.

"Well… braids are a rather personal bit, Master Baggins." he began awkwardly, wishing to explain without embarrassing either of them, and saw the dawning look on Bilbo's face.

"Oh! Oh, I see! Please, do not be offended by my offer, then, I do not mean to insult, or-" Bofur waved his hands, stopping the babble.

"Relax, relax! I know you meant nothing by it but friendliness, Master Baggins! Do not fret." His spare hand, he realized, was winding its' way into the mess again, and Bilbo had noticed.

"Though… it really could use it, and it seems my relatives are busy at the moment. Master Baggins, would you mind?" Bilbo shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"Well, I did do my little cousins hair before. If you don't mind it being a bit messy, and if it won't cause any trouble…"

"No trouble. It really is a mess, I'd hate for it to get worse while my hand is sliced up." He removed his hat to show the mess. Travel and the rain were not aiding his hair at all. Bilbo eyed his head and winced. He moved closer on the log.

"That is a right mess! I couldn't very well leave a member of our Company in such a state. If you turn to the side, I can reach and still be in the light of the fire." Bofur grinned again, and turned, partially away from the hobbit. Across camp, the other members of the Company were paying no attention, gathered around their own packs. He could see Dori, Nori and Ori working at each others hair. Behind him, Bilbo spoke up, his hands barely brushing Bofur's head.

"I think I can see the old braids, under the snarls and loose strands. Let me know if there are any I miss, please." With that, he began redoing the hair.

For all the mess, Bilbo was rather gentle, and managed to avoid pulling too hard even in the biggest knots. Bofur relaxed to the feeling of hands in his hair, before the lack of conversation caught his attention. He opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized he had closed, to look back at the others.

Almost every member of the Company was watching Bilbo work at his hair, and even in the dying light he could see their shocked faces. Thorin, though, looked furious. Likely thought their supposed engagement was a distraction from the quest. Bofur lifted his injured hand, hoping the message would get across.

The Ri brothers, who had looked the least confused to begin with, nodded almost simultaneously and turned back to each other. Nori was whispering quietly to the Ori now, as he finished off Dori's elaborate style. Balin and Dwalin hadn't looked up to begin with.

Thorin's face cleared, and he nodded, with a few quick gestures that roughly translated to 'giving aid, my apologies.' Fili seemed to see the signal, and whispered to Kili. For a moment, Bofur hoped, for a moment, that there would be no huge event over his hair.

"Ahem," a voice spoke up from slightly behind him. Bilbo's hands stilled, and Bofur turned to see Oin a few feet away. He bit back the urge to groan.

"My congradulations, and hopes for a happy marriage." Without waiting, he walked back to where Gloin was sitting, on the other side of the fire.

"Master Bofur? Did he mean… what did he mean, exactly?" As he spoke, Bilbo went back to the braids, though Bofur could tell they were nearly finished.

"Braiding anothers hair is personal, as I said. Usually between family, or… engaged couples, as a courting ceremony." For a moment, he was silent, and Bofur wondered if he should have cleared up exactly what the others would think. Then he felt a light tug on one of his braids, and a laugh.

"That's done. You ought to have told me you were proposing, I would have used ribbons. Hobbit tradition, for a wedding." He sat next to him again, and Bofur turned to look at him. Instead of being angry, he looked incredibly amused, which was a relief. Out of the corner of his eye, Bofur could see Gloin, Oin and Thorin speaking. Oin was turning red. Bofur hoped he would be alright.

"You'll have to tell me about dwarfish courting some time, or else I fear I may end up being wed to half the Company by the end of this!"

"I imagine our traditions are very different, yes." Bombur took this moment to walk up, bowls in hand.

"Should I be offering my permission, brother?" Bofur laughed, taking one bowl awkwardly, while Bilbo shook his head, chuckling quietly.

"I'm going to be the butt of many jokes for the next few weeks, I can sense it."

As it turned out, he was correct, though Oin was heavier teased for not noticing the others signaling or even speaking frantically to call him back from the false couple. Even his extremely poor hearing wasn't enough of an excuse for Fili and Kili. He was wrong, though, in his earlier comment that the braids would be messy. If he hadn't known better, even Bofur would have thought another dwarf had done them.

(They may have caused an almost serious proposal for courtship from Bifur. Thankfully, Bilbo couldn't understand.)


	3. Chapter 3

"Achoo!" Bilbo rubbed at his nose in annoyance. It ha been stuffed up for a few days now, and no amount of blowing it would clear it. He rubbed at it with the cloth Bofur had thrown at him back in Hobbiton, wiping away the snot again. He almost wished it was still raining; it would be easier to clean his face that way.

"Master Baggins? Are you well?" Bofur looked back at him, worry on his face. Bilbo waved him off.

"Just a bit of a cold. It'll clear up soon enough. Don't worry about it, Master Bofur. And you can call me Bilbo, you know." Bofur didn't look convinced, but he nodded.

"Of course, Bilbo." He turned back to the front, and spoke quietly to Bifur, who had also looked back. He'd been considerably warmer in the last few days, after the braid incident. Not that he hadn't been friendly before! Bilbo had just noticed that he seemed to be more interested in talking to Bilbo.

Or, as well as they could. Bifur could understand Westron, though he couldn't speak it, and Bilbo was picking up the hand signals to allow for some communication. Bifur was surprisingly patient when Bilbo didn't comprehend his meaning.

He'd wanted to ask about the axe, but refrained. It wasn't his business, after all. Bilbo had heard some of the others talking about the battle at Moria, before the dwarrows had settled in the Blue Mountains. Beyond that, he didn't think he wanted to know.

The group made camp, in a rocky out cropping surrounded by tall, old growth trees. In the gathering dark, Bilbo wandered to them, sat in the dirt between a few of the largest roots, almost as wide around as he was. He buried his feet in the soil, feeling the spirit of the tree, permeated through the ground from the years it had grown here, undisturbed by anyone through that time.

It was calmer here, than in the farm lands of Men they had passed, or the rocky hills. Trees were peaceful, which was why Elves were so fond of them. Being near ones so old could lend a person rest, if they wished it, though they tended to be a bit mellow afterwards. It would help clear up his growing cold, however, so Bilbo relaxed under the tall branches, staring at the darkening sky that peeked through.

"Master Baggins?" Bilbo fell backwards against the tree in surprise. He hadn't even heard someone approach! He looked up wildly, noting that the glow under his skin already fading away. Nori, who stood a good several feet away, was looking at him in confusion and a bit of shock.

"Ah, Master Nori. I- I didn't hear you come up." He'd heard some things about Nori, specifically his less than legal occupation. He'd wondered why they had needed a burglar, when he had heard Dwalin speaking of it. Now, he was just as puzzled.

"Master Baggins, what was that?" Nori walked forward a touch, but not close enough to touch any of the trees and roots. A few were still glowing, like saplings from the Shire, that had not been touched yet.

"Um… well, a form of earth connection. From Yavanna, who made us. We feed the earth, and it feeds us, a trade of different energies. This place," he gestured around them, "has never had that, Hobbits haven't traveled out of the Shire in a long time, so…" he trailed off awkwardly, unsure if this was something he should be talking about. Hobbits were rather secretive of how they were so well connected with the earth and the Green Lady, but it wasn't something that he _couldn't _talk about. Hobbits, in general, didn't talk to outsiders because they didn't meet them. He shifted awkwardly, and rubbed at his nose again. It was far less swollen than before.

"We thought you had come out here and keeled over. I do not know about hobbits, but dwarrows don't get sick until they are very sick. Instead, I came to find you… feeding trees?" Bilbo blinked at him.

"Well, yes… wait, you all thought I had died out here? From a stuffed up nose?" Nori shrugged, unbothered by this admission. Bilbo wondered, if that was true, why nobody had forced him to see Oin, who as a healer would have had some medicine. Presumably.

"As I said, dwarrows don't often get sick. Injured, certainly, but we were made tough as stone, and hard to break. How does this tree thing work? Is it Elvish magic?" Unlike the other dwarrows, he didn't sound overly bothered by the idea, merely curious. Bilbo shifted again, before standing. He walked over to Nori, and stood beside him, gesturing at the fading light of the trees.

"Trees are peaceful, and slow. Even the Ents are like this, though they are more mobile than their charges. For those of us who are close to the earth, it is fairly easy to call on that nature for some rest. It has the added benefit of clearing up illness that only time will take away. The trees, meanwhile, get a burst of quicker life, from whoever is sitting underneath it. These will grow marginally faster for a few months, and with less need of food. It isn't as common in the Shire as the Elven woods, but any hobbit could tell you this." Nori looked flummoxed, which worried Bilbo.

"Please keep this to yourself, Master Nori. I do not think it will be as effective on dwarrows, as you are closer to stone than earth, and I do not wish to be questioned extensively. At least for now." He caught Nori's eye, trying to tell what he could not say out loud; this was a Hobbit art, something he should likely not be telling, and to use it, even in the aid of another, was rather risky. If the other dwarrows knew and were depending on the trees for some form of healing, there could be unseen repercussions. Trees were not always good, nor willing to lend aid.

Nori seemed to understand, or at least realized that there were some secrets that should be kept. Again, Bilbo wondered if it was to do with his previous occupation, but said nothing. In any case, Nori nodded.

"We'd best get to camp, Master Baggins, or they really will think you have succumbed to some unknown Hobbit illness." Bilbo chuckled, and together they walked back to camp.

Behind them, the old trees began to bloom, as they had not for many years that they had lay dying. Men traveling past in the coming months would stop, and wonder, and whispers of a nameless wizard would begin to spread.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you notice, Master Baggins, that you walk rather oddly?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo looked up in confusion from his pack. When the ponies had bolted, they had been forced to continue on foot. He rather suspected that the Company had expected him to kick up a fuss, or slow them down.

"Your foot prints, look here. You only seem to walk on the balls of your feet. I cannot find a heel mark at all." Balin looked puzzled by it, and indeed, as he spoke, Dwalin came to peer at the prints in the road dust. He frowned, but did not speak. Bilbo tilted his head to the side, glancing down at the ground as well.

"No, I suppose not. We are trying to be quiet, are we not?" He rather doubted it, considering the Company. None of them, save Nori, seemed to know what quiet meant. Even Dwalin was loud, when he was walking, and the few times he bothered to speak.

"Of course. Is this how Hobbits sneak about? Gandalf mentioned that Hobbits were particularly sneaky when they wished to." Balin looked, as he often did, as though he was filing away whatever Bilbo was going to say into some internal appendix.

"Part of it. Our feet are rather different, which is helpful. Hobbits are not fighters, typically." He heard someone behind him snort in laughter, and another voice mutter "Obviously," under its breath. He ignored it, though he noted that is sounded suspiciously like Thorin.

"So we need to be able to move without detection, in multiple areas. Forest, fields, anywhere that we need to hide. I expect that it the reason Gandalf chose a Hobbit, instead of someone more used to travel." Another bit of laughter, louder than the last. Despite everything, especially the trolls of only a few nights ago, the Company regarded him rather useless.

"Would you like to prove that?" Dwalin looked up, an interested look on his face. He likely was some kind of tracker, if what he had heard correctly from fireside a few weeks ago was correct. If so, Bilbo supposed he would love a tracking game.

"Of course. How would you like me to 'prove it'?" Dwalin smiled, just a bit, while the others began to watch in interest.

"A game? You hide, and I'll try and find you. If you can get back to camp without being found, you win. I find you, I win. Sound fair?" Bilbo could see that no-one thought he could win this game, as he looked around camp. Excluding Gandalf, who smiled softly. Nori, surprisingly, was speaking quietly to Oin, and coins were exchanging hands. He wondered what the bet was.

"Deal." He didn't bother waiting for a signal or some kind of time count. He simply stripped out of his cloak, borrowed from Bofur. Once it was set it aside, he walked backwards into the woods, slipping into the shadows. Once the light of the fire faded from sight, he turned, surveying the area.

The soil was soft, from recent rain. It would hold foot prints easily, so he hopped from root to root instead, leaping lightly around the large trunks. He could hear foot steps behind him, tromping boots surprisingly quiet despite the dwarf that wore them. Dwalin was good, it seemed.

Bilbo was better.

Quickly, he began twisting to the side, under low reaching branches that the taller dwarf would struggle to get through without making a lot of noise. Once through, he doubled back around, looping past where Dwalin was walking, head bent low to listen, or perhaps smell. Regardless, he made it past him, and was near camp when he paused, balancing near an elm.

If he got back so soon, he would win, easily. But that was no fun. He wanted to prove he could sneak, as well as any Hobbit. He wanted proof that he could do this, without detection. He would need something, some kind of proof.

The last time he had tried to steal from anyone, he'd been used as a tissue. He'd prefer for that not to happen. And it was entirely likely that Dwalin would swing first, if he was startled.

With his axe.

Instead, Bilbo turned to the elm, and gripped a low branch, swinging up easily into the foliage. He pulled himself higher, and walked along the branch towards where it met with another. Continuing this way, he reached camp, standing almost directly over the camp, looking down at the sparking fire and smoke.

Carefully, he cut off one of the buttons of his coat, and dropped it at the same time as a log resettled, covering the soft plink the button made as it landed on his own pack. Smiling, he backed away, moving towards the other side of the camp, and away, towards the rocky outcropping that marked their passage towards the mountains. The trees gave him easy access to the tops of the tall rocks, and he stepped lightly onto the rough rock.

From here, the sun was still visible, sinking below the tree line behind them. The Shire lay that way, as did the Old Forest and beyond, the Blue Mountains. He picked up a loose piece from the top, tucking it in his pocket and continuing away from camp, along the rocks now. The rocks melded into the hillside after a few hundred feet. It looked like they had fallen from higher up at some point, tumbled down the hill and landed here.

He was too far away to hear Dwalin at this point, and doubled back again, staying in the trees. He found him near where he'd turned the first time, the underbrush obviously pulled apart in a search. Dwalin clearly thought he was going to hide for a good amount of time and was searching for a hiding spot. Bilbo watched him for a few minutes, before noticing Dwalin's hood was laying open behind his head.

He would only get one shot, but that should be all he needed. Carefully, he cut another button, and moved closer. He held his breath when Dwalin looked up, before moving again.

Before he could change his mind, he tossed the button, moving quickly backwards towards the trunk of the tree he stood on, hiding in the shadows. The button shone in the air, twirling, before landing…

Right in the hood of the cloak, a moment before Dwalin turned, eyes searching for something. Bilbo must have made a noise when it landed, perhaps a sigh of relief.

He didn't move as Dwalin looked, and for a moment he thought he was caught. But he turned again, scrutinizing another area. Bilbo breathed quietly, and waited.

Eventually, Dwaling went back to searching, and he escaped along the branches further away from camp, wondering at his next move.

He could go to camp now. It had been a good long time, surely he had made his point by now. But instead, he continued along his path for a few minutes, and dropped to the ground.

There was a creek this way, feeding the trees and making the ground subtly softer under his feet. The burbling sounds became clearer as he neared it, and he smiled at the sound. There were some things that were familiar, at least.

He refilled his flask, such a normal thing to him at this point that he hadn't noticed it was still at his hip, and sat on the edge, watching the water.

There were shallow stones across the water, barely submerged in the water. He eyed them warily. Hobbits, in general, didn't care for running water. But Dwalin would assume that he would avoid the creek, as having wet feet would leave easier marks on the ground, so with a sigh he made his way towards the water, and jumped quickly onto the first stone.

Skipping along, he reached the other side before he could think about slipping and falling into the water. The other side had a long stretch of ting pebbles reaching away from the banks, and he winced at the prints the water left. He shook his head, scooped up a stone and put it with the others, and moved on, into the trees again before he could be traced.

The sun was entirely set now, and the only light came from the half moon above them and the twinkling stars. He moved on, following the banks hidden in the tree line. He had not seen Dwalin yet along the creek, and wasn't sure if that was good or not. It was possible he was waiting by the camp as an ambush. Or he was watching as well, from the other bank, waiting for a good time to capture him.

He slipped further into the trees, and tried to orientate himself. The creek passed along the far side of the rocks he had been on earlier, and he figured he could cross again there, before approaching the camp again from the outcropping. Plan decided, he hurried along, worried that he would find some enemy while moving alone in the woods.

The water got deeper as he followed it, and he worried that it would be difficult to cross again. There were worse things than drowning, he was sure, but he didn't know what. He eyed the waters warily again, now realizing that this silly bet could be more dangerous than any of them had thought at the time. He should have tried to return before the sun set entirely.

There was a log, trapped between several large rocks tumbled into the water, and he thanked every god he could think of that it did not look rotted or loose. He moved onto the wood, feeling the solid surface beneath his feet.

He moved along it carefully, feeling with his toes before trusting his weight. In this way, he almost made it across before something further upriver caused a large wave to drench him. As the water hit, his feet slipped, and he tumbled into the water with a splash.

The water was freezing, and he panicked, flailing for a handhold, no longer worried about being found, only getting out of the water. His hand found something, a root or branch, and he took hold, twisting to pull himself up with both arms. Gasping, he yanked, and felt himself slip, before getting a better hold and moving again out of the water.

He rolled away from the shore, shaking in either fear or cold. He wanted to stay there, and breathe, but he could not stay. He was not sure, anymore, who he was avoiding. Dwalin or the strange fear of what was hiding in the dark. Paranoia was setting in, in the wild where he had no allies nearby and only a weapon he had never used. The beautiful elven sword with no name and no history, which they found in the troll hoard not long ago.

There was nobody nearby, and it seemed that his near miss had gone unnoticed. He pulled himself up, shivering, and looked around. It appeared that, by some luck, he had managed to land on the side he needed.

He started to move again, trying to keep his feet silent. With the way he was shaking it was difficult, but the first think a Hobbit ever learns when they can walk is how to walk without sound. He moved up to the roots again, knowing that the wet steps would not be as easy to see now, and if Dwalin had not heard the water splashing he was either at camp planning an ambush or further away. Bilbo was betting on the ambush, personally, and climbed into the trees, hoping to spot where Dwalin had set up before he saw Bilbo.

The fire looked inviting and warm, and there was food cooking that smelled delicious. However, to go down without knowing where Dwalin was would be dangerous. It was likely that he would notice him before Bilbo saw him, leaving the options of walking in blind or trying to fall straight into camp boundaries.

He climbed down, stopping at the lowest branch, and peered around again. There was no sign of anyone here, except Ori drawing below the tree, on the outskirts of the fire. He was using some spell of Gandalf's, it seemed, to give him light to sketch.

Bilbo dropped behind him, and braced himself for the tackle to the ground that came from Dwalin, hiding in the bushes behind the tree.

"It was a good fight laddie, but I believe I- you're soaked!" Dwalin stood, and yanked Bilbo up with him.

"Yes, I uh- took a tumble into the creek. Thought you had heard it, to be honest." He was still shivering a bit, and Ori moved forward in worry.

"You ought to be more careful, Master Baggins! Oh, that tackle didn't seem necessary, Mister Dwalin…" he trailed off, looking at Dwalin in worry, but the pinched brow seemed to be in worry, not annoyance.

Together, they dragged Bilbo back into camp, where the others jumped up in worry. Within moments, Bilbo was out of his soaked clothes, wrapped in his cloak, and had Thorin glowering at him.

"There was no need to take this game so far, Master Baggins. One would think you were not taking this quest seriously." Bilbo glowered at him for a moment, surprised at his own daring, before shivering again and looking away, at Gandalf. He met his eyes, and saw anxiety, and a bit of amusement.

"Such an effort, Bilbo, and you have nothing to show for it?" The others looked at Gandalf in confusion.

"What do you mean, Gandalf?" Oin finally asked. Bilbo took this moment to turn to Bofur.

"Could you get my sewing kit from my pack? It seems I misplaced a button or two, and I'd like to reattach them before I sleep." Bofur blinked at him, before moving to collect the kit. He gave a sound of surprise.

"I believe I found it, Bilbo! How did this button get here?" He held it up to the light for the rest of the Company to see. Dwalin looked at Bilbo with renewed interest.

"You are a sneaky Hobbit indeed. How did you manage to leave that there?" Bilbo pointed towards the trees, and the large over hanging branches that hung over the camp.

"There were more places than the dirt to travel on. May I ask you to look in your hood?" Dwalin's eyes widened, and with every member watching him carefully he reached back.

"Why, I don't believe it!" He held up the other missing button, and for a moment, all was silent.

"That would make you the winner, Master Baggins. As much as I don't like to admit defeat, it appears you both made it to camp and bested me in tracking." Fili and Kili looked beside themselves in glee.

"What else did you manage?" Balin looked intrigued at who had beaten his brother.

"I reached the creek, the upper edges of the rock outcropping behind you, and I believe we are being followed. Something knocked me loose while I was crossing the creek, and I believe it was something, or someone, going through further still upstream." His words startled Thorin, who glanced in the direction of the creek in worry.

"We will have two watchmen tonight, and we move first light. I do not wish to be trapped here, there are too few places to retreat to if we are outnumbered." He ordered, and there was a flurry of movement to set up sleeping arrangements. Bilbo was handed a bowl of stew, his sewing and the buttons moved back to his things. As they settled again, it was Thorin who sat near Bilbo.

He didn't speak until he had finished eating and had set the bowl aside.

"How is it you beat the best tracker of Erebor and the Blue Mountains?" Bilbo glanced back at him, and saw only interest, instead of the open condescension he had seen up to this point.

"Hobbits are not taught to walk. We are taught to walk without sound or evidence. No footprints if there is any way to avoid it, no sound at all. There has always been a chance that the Shire would be attacked, and we cannot fight. It isn't our nature, and it is not something we have ever learned. So, we are taught to run, to be able to escape and retreat. That's all. I was able to avoid Dwalin because we are all taught to avoid exactly what he has learned to do." Thorin stared at him, for a long time. Bilbo didn't look, and instead watched Nori take a small sum of coins from Oin. He smiled, just a bit.

"I see." He walked away. Bilbo sat there, warming himself, and wondered exactly what was so strange about Hobbits. Small creatures with little means of protecting themselves would find ways of escaping their predators.

"I believe, Bilbo, that they are surprised that you are taught to see them as an enemy." Gandalf settled next to him.

"Hobbits. Halflings. Shire folk. We are the young cousins of elves and Ents, but we are defenseless. Anyone that carries a weapon is a threat, surely they must see that?" Gandalf smiled sadly at him.

"Nobody wants to hear that they are the monsters in someone else's stories, Bilbo. I imagine Master Oakenshield is merely startled to realize that he is exactly that, to you. To them, you are a member of the Company, and whatever else they think of you, that makes you one of them. He did not want to think that someone he is close to fears him." Bilbo shook his head.

"I do not. You know that. He," Bilbo gestured to where Thorin had set up first watch with Balin, "ought to know that as well. You do not trust a monster with your life." Bilbo stood, stretched, and walked to his own things. Someone, perhaps Fili and Kili, had already laid them out.

He was asleep within moments.

_XxX_

Thorin watched, long past when he lay down, the still form of their Burglar, who had proved his skills only a few hours before. Watching him be half carried into the camp, shivering and dripping wet, had been an interesting struggle between fear, confusion, and oddly enough, pride. Few would have made it a few minutes before Dwalin caught them.

Then the buttons were found, and Bilbo explained what he had done. He had been impressed.

Now, he felt shame, or something close to it, for being one of the races of Middle Earth that had caused Hobbits to sharpen their skills in such a way. Balin had shared his look, when Bilbo explained, and he thought of their trek, years ago, to the Blue Mountains. They had gone through the Shire, and looking back, had likely been a terrifying sight to any Hobbit they passed. Worn from the road and starved thin, they had been a ragged, rough bunch, quick to startle. Peaceful folk had likely taken one look and thought their worst fears were true, that they were being attacked.

He thought of the towns without people, the houses with no lights on, that they had walked by, and felt sick. That was no way to behave around folk who value food and comfort over any kind of riches or glory.

He decided, then and there, that he would be better to the Shire than he predecessors. The Shire, and all who hailed from it. Starting with Bilbo Baggins, resident Burglar.


End file.
